


Glass Stars and Paper Moons

by RainFlame



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Conqueror of Shamballa fix-it fic, Depression, Ed is depressed, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Germany, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, I know that shocks you, Parental Roy, idk how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainFlame/pseuds/RainFlame
Summary: After two years of being stuck on this side of the Gate, Edward Elric finally stumbles across answers that might just be his ticket home. The catch? It might just cost him the lives of those he cares about to do it. Lucky for him, a certain idiot colonel drops in to lend a hand.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Alternate Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric & Alfons Heiderich, Edward Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric & Van Hohenheim, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 35
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

_A/N: It will help you tremendously if you've seen FMA '03._

* * *

It was a little bit like drowning, death. Not the being shot part, but the rest.

Inhale pain, exhale life.

A few seconds dragging on into eternity.

The voice was too far away, too distorted to determine position, but Roy supposed it didn't really matter.

"Now, to find Elric. I know he's here."

Not Alphonse.

He'd already failed Ed, he couldn't fail Al too.

Roy tried to stand, but his vision was already twirling, tilting, darkening. His hand slipped in a puddle of blood and he fell into the hard asphalt.

Then came muffled cursing that couldn't have been his, a sudden bright light sparking and splitting Roy's vision in a hundred fractals and he closed his only eye because it wasn't doing him any good anyway and snapped.

But ignition cloth soaked in blood didn't spark, and it was too late because his heart had stopped beating anyway, going still in his chest, frozen and heavy like a block of ice and spreading cold even as hot blood pooled under him.

And without further fanfare, Roy Mustang died.

Then he opened his eye.

XxXxX

Edward Elric picked up his right arm in his left and forced the mangled wrist into his pocket.

Yeah, see, at the right angle, it was like his arm wasn't almost snapped in two.

Ed felt eyes on him and looked up to see Alfons arching a completely unimpressed eyebrow. Ed glared. "Do you have any better ideas?"

"You've been tinkering with it for two days now, Ed."

"I'm _aware."_

"Don't you think—"

"No."

Now Alfons glared, but he kept his voice low to not be overheard outside the office. "Edward, we're on a tight schedule, and Oberth wants this model done sometime this decade. If you can't work, you're useless."

"Hey, I'm just the chemist. I don't need two hands for that."

Alfons did not look impressed. "You almost spilled liquid oxygen next to the Bunsen burner."

"That was Dorchett."

"That was _you,"_ Alfons said firmly, grabbing his coat from a peg on the wall. "Come on, we're going to your dad's."

Instead of getting up, Ed deliberately turned back to his open textbooks and the pile of notes scattered all over his desk, pulling the text on chemical conversion under his nose. "It's Tuesday. I research on Tuesday."

"You'll read better with two hands."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Without preamble, Alfons stalked over to his desk and slammed the book shut.

"Hey!"

"Come on, you can yell on the way." Alfons tossed Ed's coat over his lap. He didn't cave at all under the heat of Ed's glare, instead shrugging on his own coat. "Need help?"

Ed got to his feet. "I can put a coat on just fine," he growled, yanking his arm out of his pocket and wrangling it into the sleeve before sliding it over his shoulders. "Oberth won't like us leaving early."

"It's not early, it's almost seven, Ed," Alfons said like he was talking to a particularly dense child. Ed frowned, glancing out the small dirty window to confirm it was already dusk. He'd been so absorbed in his research that his broken arm had slipped off the table, taking a stack of manuals with it and jarring him and Alfons from their studies. He could have sworn lunch had just ended, though. "The rest of the team has already gone home," Alfons continued. "Security is going to come by and throw us out soon.

"Besides, Oberth hasn't visited the shop in over three weeks," Alfons added, something close to irritation in his voice. Alfons did not like his work to be ignored. Usually he was the first to work himself into the ground right behind Ed, but maybe not working up until the bitter end was some convoluted way to get back at their professor for his negligence. "Besides, what's he gonna do, dismiss us from the program when no one's come half this close to a functional model? Face it, we're making him look good, and all he does is mismanage and lose our meager funding."

Ed tried really hard to avoid the affairs of this world, so the bureaucratic nightmare that was university faculty and funding was something he didn't care to acknowledge or dwell on. All he was interested in was room, board, and any possible routes home. As long as there was even the ghost of a chance rocketry could get him there, he would research it until he was either back in Amestris with his brother or dead.

"I think what's important here is that you're not bitter," Ed said blandly, slipping a small book into his empty pocket and stepping over the fallen pile of manuals before following the taller man out of the glorified broom closet that served as their team's office and into the shop proper. The sharp smell of fuel and chemicals pricked at Ed's nostrils, and where the shop was usually a loud, bustling parade of student life, it was almost deathly quiet now, the only movement the motes of dust spinning under the overhead lights. It was a cavernous space, filled with bits and pieces of rockets, failed prototypes, models, schematics, and enough odds and ends, tools and trinkets, to make any gearhead happy.

Ed didn't want to think about that.

"If we don't get this model running, we're going to lose a lot more funding," Alfons said, looking at Ed pointedly.

"Then maybe we should be spending our time working instead of trekking halfway across the city—"

"Shut up, Ed. Your dad owes us money anyway."

Ed's scowl darkened, but he didn't say anything. Alfons had tried to phrase it delicately, but he knew Ed's father was a touchy subject, and money from him even more so. The actuality of the situation was that Hohenheim was paying for Ed's half their rent. Alfons was paying through scholarship, but Edward hadn't been approved for that kind of financial aid. He was a foreigner, and while he might have been contributing to the country's obsession with rockets and flight, that was just too big of a flaw for the university to overlook. The only reason he'd gotten in at all was because of Hohenheim's influence. Ed didn't know what they saw in Hohenheim, or how he had garnered so much respect in the academic world, but it had kept Ed somewhat fed and housed throughout the country's economic slump.

Of course, _slump_ was putting it mildly. They'd hardly eaten more than stale bread and broth when they could afford it for over twelve months. Ed was loath to admit that if it hadn't been for his father's financial support these past two years of being stuck in this world, he'd be dead in a ditch somewhere.

Things were looking up though, financially speaking. Something about some sort of agreement with some other country making it easier for Germany as a whole. The mark was almost worth enough to bother spending now instead of burning.

But as far as Ed was concerned, things wouldn't be looking up until he found the way back home.

They made their way from the shops and labs of the University of Munich and out into the bustling city, making it to the corner and heading southeast, out toward the river because Hohenheim didn't seem to like living close to the center of the city. It was a brisk fall evening, the part of the year where the days promised pleasant weather, but winter was nipping at your heels once the sun went down. This time of day it was chilly and Ed's ports ached. He tried to be discreet while rubbing at his shoulder, but he knew Alfons saw it.

"Maybe this visit is overdue, anyway," Alfons said, looking both ways before crossing the street.

Ed followed, hardly sparing a glance in either direction. "Any time is too soon."

"What exactly did you dad do to you to make you so testy?"

It wasn't the first time Alfons had asked, and it wouldn't be the last. Alfons seemed to like the old coot on principle, and couldn't understand why Ed wouldn't, despite Ed explaining how Hohenheim had run out on them when they were little and left them to take care of their dying mother when they were hardly more than toddlers. He didn't even have to go into his series of poor life choices after that due in part to an absent father.

Ed wasn't sure if Alfons chalked his whole explanation up to just being one of Ed's "stories," or if he was more generous than Ed ever could be.

It was one of the other unsettling ways Alfons was so much like Al; he was always willing to see the best in people until he saw the proof for himself.

The thought alone gave Ed the startling impression that this was what it would be like to walk next to his little brother in the flesh, if he were home now. If he just looked out of the corner of his eye, the shape of Alfons' face would match perfectly, the blond of his hair turning gold, the smile the same Ed remembered when they were little kids.

But Ed didn't even know if Alphonse was alive, much less back in his body.

Ed didn't want to think about that.

He thumbed the book in his left pocket and cast about, eyeing the dull navy sky, the dull gray buildings, the dull way the electric lamp lights flickered up and down the darkening cobblestone streets. Everything in this world was so much duller than his, or maybe it was just him. "Hohenheim is a selfish coward, and the less I have to even look at him, the better," he growled with more heat than necessary, shuffling closer to Alfons to make way for a passing group of young students laughing and joking and cutting up on their way by.

"Hohenheim is a brilliant man, Ed," Alfons corrected when the group had passed and taken their noise with them. He looked around, then dropped his voice. "Aren't you at least grateful for the arm and leg?"

Ed wanted to tell Alfons that nursing Ed back to health after his "accident" and building him new limbs from scratch didn't undo years of absenteeism.

But he had a feeling that would just earn him another guilt trip.

"Yep," Ed answered instead, but even to his own ears there wasn't much conviction in it. Maybe it would be better to be dead in a ditch. At least then he wouldn't have to see Hohenheim anymore, or put up with this stupid world.

"Then maybe you should act like it."

"Alfons, I don't want to talk about this anymore." He hoped he didn't sound as pained as he felt.

It was just like Alphonse, always trying to coax Ed into a civil relationship with their lousy excuse for a father. The parallels were a little too much right now.

This cursed world was one slap in Ed's face after another. The only time he truly felt at peace here was when he was knee-deep in some text or another, or so enthralled with a theory he didn't stop to come up for air, much less have the brainpower to acknowledge this world and its dark reflection of where he should be, every familiar face a mockery of the person it really belonged to, every similarity marred by subtle imperfections that made Ed half convinced he was going mad.

And he hated that through all of it, Hohenheim was his one source of stability, something old and familiar to latch onto that was solid and unchanging, proof that he wasn't just losing his mind, that his memories were real.

Because he usually felt like he was losing his mind, and every furtive glance Alfons sent his way only reinforced it.

Hohenheim lived in an apartment that was about twice the size of the one Ed and Alfons shared. It was four stories above a small bakery that always smelled like fresh bread and sweets and always made Ed's mouth water longingly. Alfons greeted the gruff baker on their way through the shop and up the stairs. Ed nodded and did his best to avoid eye contact, because in another cruel twist, the large man looked almost just like Sig Curtis. Ed was thankful his wife was nowhere in sight, because she seemed to have taken a liking to him from when he had stayed with Hohenheim and took every available opportunity to shove day-old bread and treats into his arms in a time where they were probably a couple of bad breaks from starvation themselves.

She looked just like Teacher, and every time he saw them he felt something in his cold heart twist and ache anew.

Stairs could be difficult even with his old prosthetic leg, but with the knockoffs that Hohenheim managed to cobble together they were downright annoying, and Ed wasn't sure why the idiot had to live so high above everybody else. Alfons knew this and waited patiently, taking the steps slowly as Ed had to almost crabwalk up each and every stair. By the time he reached the top he was completely winded, and Alfons waited with him until he could collect himself enough to walk down the hall to Hohenheim's apartment.

Alfons knocked on the door and had to knock twice more before Hohenheim opened it.

"Ah, Edward, Alfons," he greeted, broad face melding into an easy smile. "It's been too long. Please, come in."

He opened the door wider, staying behind it but allowing them entry. "Good evening, Professor," Alfons greeted. Hohenheim was no professor or educational authority, but here in Germany it seemed everyone called him 'Professor Hohenheim.' Ed didn't know the reason for it, but it ticked him off anyway.

Hohenheim's apartment hadn't changed from when Ed had lived with him. It was a two-bedroom number with a tiny kitchen and a gas stove that hardly took the edge off the cold in the dead of winter. Ed wasn't sure how the old man had acquired the apartment or any of the secondhand furnishings haphazardly scattered across the hardwood floors, but those weren't initially obvious anyway. What was more apparent were the stacks of papers, books, maps, and charts scattered across any flat elevated surface. Four mismatched bookshelves covered every available wall, crammed with texts and materials and the occasional shelf of music records, and Ed knew there were five more just like them in the two back bedrooms.

For a man that had spent centuries living out of a suitcase, he'd certainly latched onto the idea of a permanent dwelling.

"What brings you boys all the way out here?" Hohenheim asked. He was in the same all-covering outfit he usually wore and kept his distance like he usually did. Still, here in the place he lived, the sickly-sweet stench of cologne—and the faint undercurrent of rot—had soaked into the upholstery and permeated the walls. After living with the old man for almost a year, Ed was used to the smell, but Alfons subtly tried to paw at his nose when he thought no one was looking.

"Edward needs a repair," Alfons offered. "Go ahead, ask him how it happened."

Ed scowled. "You're not helping.

Hohenheim arched an eyebrow behind his rectangular glasses. "A repair? What happened?"

Ed glared at a self-assured Alfons while he pulled his right limb from its pocket, brandishing the hand that dangled uncomfortably by only a few wires underneath the flesh-colored sleeve. It looked like a dead fish hanging off his arm.

Hohenheim deflated, lips turning down almost comically. "Edward, these limbs take me almost two months to build. What happened?"

Ed glowered. "It's not like I did it on purpose."

Hohenheim turned to Alfons. "What happened?"

Alfons grinned. "Somebody wasn't quite tall enough to reach the fuel lines."

"Shut up, Alfons," Ed warned.

"So instead of waiting for Felix to finish with the ladder—"

" _Alfons . . ."_

"—he stacked up some textbooks and stood on those. Clearly it didn't end well."

Hohenheim regarded Ed with some measure of pain behind his golden eyes. "Clearly."

"And to top it off, he tried to repair it himself," Alfons added smugly. "Now his whole arm is bust."

"That's not true," Ed hissed. "It can still do this." He demonstrated by pulling his elbow about four inches behind him, hand still dangling uselessly in front. He couldn't push the elbow forward though, which now that he was standing here trying to make his case, seemed kind of unhelpful.

"Inspired." Alfons was still grinning like an idiot. "I don't even know why we bothered making this trip."

"Look, can you help or not?"

Hohenheim sighed. "Come on, we'll have a look." He turned to Alfons. "As always, feel free to help yourself to whatever you like. Siegfried gave me the most delicious batch of cookies from yesterday. He was going to throw them out, but he said his wife would kill him if he didn't at least offer them to me for the next time I see you boys."

"Thanks, Professor! Do you mind if I—" he gestured to the records on the shelf.

Hohenheim smiled. "Certainly."

Ed followed Hohenheim back to what used to be his bedroom. Now it was more of a workshop, with bits and pieces of tools and automail limbs lying here, stacked in a crate there. Ed's old bed became the exam table and his desk the workbench. Another couple of bookshelves were crammed against the walls, and given that the room had been tiny to begin with, there was little space to maneuver. Ed cleared the bed and removed his coat, vest, and shirt while Hohenheim flicked on a pair of lamps on the desk and sat down in an old wooden chair.

Ed unlatched the leather straps securing his arm to its port with a single practiced hand, removing the harness and popping the limb out of its socket with only a grunt of discomfort before handing it off to Hohenheim. Ed usually removed the limbs to sleep, as they were not near as permanent nor responsive as his old automail and tended to drag his body into painful positions throughout the night, but the damage was not only to the arm but also to the wiring. He hoped that wouldn't mean messing with the converter or the port.

The room was cold, and Ed grabbed his dusty wool blanket from the corner of the bed, wrapping it over his body to keep the chill away but expose the right shoulder. He sat down, the cheap mattress shrieking as he did. He didn't comment when Hohenheim looked at him, then hesitantly pulled the flesh-colored sleeve away from the automail arm.

Hohenheim surveyed the damage, his mouth falling open as if he were about to say something, but no words came out. Ed supposed he was lucky. If this were his old mechanic, she'd have already bludgeoned him half to death.

While Alphonse haunted his every waking moment and every time he caught sight of Alfons out of the corner of his eye, Winry haunted him in the night, in his dreams. She would be hunched over his impaled body, holding his face in blood-slicked hands, or greeting him when he finally got home, arms opened wide. Sometimes Alphonse was there, and sometimes she was alone, but she was always crying.

_No. Don't think about her, don't think about her, not right now._

He couldn't afford another breakdown in front of Hohenheim. Hohenheim had seen him have enough of those, and Ed had just barely managed to scrape together enough of his wounded pride to be able to look him in the eye these past few months.

Edward fresh out of the Gate and fresh out of a blimp crash was not a pretty picture, physically or emotionally.

"This . . . Edward, I don't even understand how you could have broken the support clean in two."

"Guess I'm just talented like that."

"And these severed wires . . ." he said, putting the arm down on the desk and turning, leaning forward to inspect the converter in his shoulder. "You pulled them all the way up. We're going to have to replace the whole arm, converter too. This isn't something I can just weld together."

Ed sighed. He'd been afraid of that. "Okay." He laid flat on his back, then the old man picked up a screwdriver and began working near the shoulder port. The converter was something he didn't have before, an external connection between the port in his body and the arm itself. It was a small cylinder that housed a battery and a host of wires. Hohenheim had described it as both a switchboard for his nerves and power storage for the pull string-the technology in this world hadn't figured out a way to power limbs on the body's energy alone.

The sweet sound of a violin started up in the next room. Alfons must have found a record he liked.

"How is the rocketry going?" Hohenheim asked.

It took Ed's brain a long second to realize he wasn't speaking in German anymore, but Amestrian.

He rarely did that since they'd moved here. Hohenheim believed complete immersion in the culture was what would keep them safe and insisted that Edward either speak German or nothing at all. It had tipped Ed over the edge more times than he could count, but in hindsight, it was probably a good thing. Between Hohenheim's instruction and Alfons' tutelage, Ed was fluent enough to get by without raising too many alarms.

Ed wasn't sure what was prompting the change, though. Maybe the old man was feeling nostalgic or homesick, though Ed found it hard to believe Hohenheim could feel homesick after centuries of wandering.

Ed looked from the ceiling to the older man, then back to the ceiling. "It's slow." The Amestrian words felt strange on his tongue, but he found they felt good, too. It made his heart pang just a little at the familiarity.

"Professor Oberth rang me a couple of days ago. He said that you seem to be making good progress."

Hohenheim was trying to play nice, but Ed wasn't in the mood to play nice. "He hasn't been there. I don't see how he'd know anything."

"Ah," Hohenheim said, starting on another screw. "I suppose that would make sense. He's been a bit distracted by another project."

Unsurprising, and not unexpected. Those professor types were all the same, and about as reliable as any other bureaucratic entity.

"Tell me, have you heard of the Thule Society?"

Ed wasn't in the humoring mood, but something in the older man's voice caught his attention, or maybe he was feeling a bit more generous since Hohenheim was indulging his language preferences. He looked at Hohenheim again, adjusting the wool blanket to cover his flesh shoulder a little better. "No. What's that?"

"Occultists, mostly," Hohenheim admitted. "Their interests seem to range from aliens to the lost city of Atlantis, but there is also a sect that has begun research into an alternate universe. A parallel world."

Ed felt his stomach bottom out, the air leaving his lungs in a rush.

A parallel world.

Amestris.

_Home._

Hohenheim must have interpreted the look on Ed's face as one of hope. "They have nothing but theories now," he continued. "But I'm only telling you this because I want you to stay away from them."

Ed couldn't help sitting up a little, Hohenheim's screwdriver slipping at the movement. "Stay away?! Why? This is what I've been looking for!"

Hohenheim's face closed a bit. He placed a hand on Ed's metal shoulder, pushing it down into the threadbare sheets and continuing with the screwdriver. "These people, while they may be researching what you're after, are dangerous. You don't exactly blend in, Edward. If they somehow put two and two together . . . you'll be in a lot of trouble."

Ed turned his scowl to the ceiling. He stuck out in a lot of ways, from his gold hair and eyes, to the odd way he walked, to the stiffness of his right hand and his accent and the way he fumbled with the German language. Everything about him practically screamed "foreigner," and he couldn't argue that Hohenheim had a point there.

But his cover story was that he was from America—wherever that was—and that he came to live with his father in England before their research brought him here to Germany. With all the supposed countries and languages and cultures in this world, who could possibly even guess that he'd be from another world entirely? Ed hadn't even considered it a possibility until he'd seen it for himself.

"Brace yourself."

Ed barely contained a whimper when Hohenheim wrenched the converter back and out of its socket, excess current lighting up the empty nerve endings like one of those electric Christmas trees he'd seen in upscale shop windows. The only perk to Hohenheim's automail was also the major drawback: being less refined and less functional, it connected to probably a third of the nerves Winry's did. It hurt less to attach and reattach.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"Sorry," Hohenheim said with a wince, twisting to set the detached converter on the desk next to his discarded arm before choosing a new converter and arm from the crate in the corner. He held the arm in front of him for Ed to see. "I've tweaked a couple of things, the finger joints for one. I think the looser design will give you more dexterity. It's still got the pull string for most of its power, but the battery reserve in the converter should charge better and last longer. It weighs a little more, but maybe you can get by with only pulling it a couple of times throughout the day instead of four or five."

Ed wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with the corner of the blanket and nodded, taking a pain-ragged breath and letting it out slowly. "That will help."

Hohenheim leaned forward again, the small converter in hand. Ed felt metal scrape metal, jarring his bones as Hohenheim lined it up and he winced. "Alright, are you ready?"

Ed swallowed, breathed, then nodded.

The pain was worse than the removal, sharp agony ripping through an arm that didn't exist and throughout his shoulder. Ed did cry out this time, a high keen that brought Alfons to the open door.

The young man surveyed the scene with concerned blue eyes. "Ed? Professor? Everything okay?"

Ed couldn't speak, pain stealing his voice, but Hohenheim smiled at him. "If you will heat up a water bottle for Ed," he said in perfect German. "We're almost done here."

Alfons nodded, sparing Ed one more worried look before disappearing back out the door.

Hohenheim was back with the screwdriver before Ed had recovered, securing the converter in place. "I'm sorry. I know it hurts."

Ed turned his face to the wall so Hohenheim wouldn't see the tears pricking his eyes. He'd gotten so weak since being dumped in this world, his body going soft and lean from hunger and work and hopelessness. He didn't have the tenacity he used to.

"About the Thule Society," Hohenheim continued in quiet Amestrian over the quiet clattering of his screwdriver. "If you promise to stay away, I promise I will use my contacts. I will get you any information I possibly can, but you have to stay away."

When Ed felt like he could control himself and the pain, he turned back to look at the old man. Hohenheim met his gaze. "Do we have a deal?"

Ed wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion or the pain that made him answer what he did, but he gave Hohenheim a small, weary nod.

He wasn't sure if he meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

They got back to the apartment—Ed refused to refer to the small two-bedroom establishment as _home_ —late that night, Alfons carrying a couple of records and a book borrowed from Hohenheim, Ed with a carrier bag stuffed with marks and a sack of day-old cookies and stale bread. He dumped his load on the kitchen counter then pulled out the one of the two pots they owned from beside the stove and placed it under the tap, fiddling with the knobs until a lifeless stream of water trickled out. It coughed, gurgled, then rushed forward, quickly filling the container.

"Tea?" Alfons asked hopefully. Ed sighed and snagged their only kettle, filling it and placing both on the stove to heat. Alfons opened the bag of treats, pulling out a cookie with vanilla frosting. He took a small bite, and when he closed his eyes, Ed saw his little brother, back in his body, almost twenty and enjoying food like he was supposed to.

And if Ed wasn't careful, he could get lost in that fantasy. He could omit the ocean-blue eyes and only see Alphonse's clear gray ones. He could convince himself that Alphonse was here in the flesh, here in Germany, building rockets to climb to the stars, two lost souls traveling a strange world alone but for each other, the same way it had always been.

But then Alfons opened his eyes and caught Ed staring, and Ed was reminded for probably the hundredth time that day why Ed couldn't allow himself to live in that fantasy.

"You're doing it again, Edward."

The tone was more sympathetic than accusatory, more sad than angry. Ed turned back to the task of preparing tea, dumping leaves from an almost-empty tin into two mugs, readying his hot water bottle and watching the water, willing it to boil.

Alfons was not Alphonse. To treat them as the same was a disservice to both and would surely spell the end of Ed's tenuous grasp on his sanity.

"I'm real," Alfons said quietly. "I'm real, and so are you."

Ed closed his eyes, leaning forward, hunched over the counter. It's exactly what Alfons told him in the middle of the night, when Ed would wake up screaming his little brother's name, holding his chest as invisible blood pooled from his own cooling corpse.

He hated when Alfons found him like that, because he was an absolute mess, crying and shaking, his only hand fisting Alfons' night shirt tightly, burrowing his head into the shoulder of this stranger that wore his brother's face, sobbing while Alfons stroked his loose hair and repeated over and over:

" _You're safe. I'm real, and so are you. You're safe, Ed."_

"Ed?"

Ed jumped, eyes darting to Alfons guiltily. "I'm . . . I was just thinking."

Alfons nodded. "About your brother?"

Ed leaned his forehead against the cabinet suspended above the stove, the heat off the elements warming his wind-chilled face. "Yeah."

Alfons thought he was mad, Ed knew. Ed wasn't sure why Alfons put up with him, because sometimes Ed thought he was mad too. Ed wasn't sure what had compelled him to tell Alfons about his home, about his world. About his little brother, and the friends and the life they had managed to carve for themselves among a corrupt military to restore their bodies.

Well, actually, he knew exactly what had compelled him.

It was the dead of night, when his nightmares replayed for him the cruelest that he'd seen and done, when Alfons came to his rescue. That was when his worst sins escaped; losing his brother, murdering and killing with his bladed hand and his own naivete.

Killing his mother, not once but twice.

That the second was a shadowy doppelganger of the first did not change Ed's guilt.

Hohenheim warned Ed not to share anything of home with anyone of this world, not even Alfons, and he'd tried for a while. But every nightmare-ridden night, he'd disclosed a little more and a little more until Alfons had asked and Ed told him everything. Alfons had been patient, supportive, and kind, but from then on he'd responded with that cool steady patience of a man talking someone off a ledge.

Ed had confided in him a little too much, it seemed. Alfons was convinced Ed had one foot in reality, the other stuck in some sort of fantasy Ed had constructed to cope with the death of his mother and brother.

That's what Hohenheim had told Alfons, to explain why Ed was sometimes "upset," or "unwell," or " _confused."_

Ed had half a mind to toss Hohenheim out the nearest window.

But sometimes . . . sometimes Ed wondered if Hohenheim was right. If both of them were right.

Maybe he'd imagined everything. Maybe Amestris didn't exist and Hohenheim sometimes indulged his delusions, just like Alfons. Maybe losing his mother and brother to "consumption" or whatever Hohenheim had suggested had so damaged him psychologically that his mind had constructed a fiction to escape into; one with adventure and purpose, filled with the faces of those he'd seen in America and England, Munich and Transylvania and Budapest. A façade, a delusion, something to make the loss of his mother and his brother easier to deal with.

Alfons thought he was delusional, that he was telling "stories," and that he shouldn't believe everything his imagination pumped out. Alfons didn't believe him, and that hurt more than Ed would ever admit. His rejection—in some convoluted way—was rejection from Alphonse, and Ed sometimes wondered if maybe the other man was right and something was well and truly broken inside of him.

"You're safe," Alfons said again.

Maybe Ed's expression had been more pained than he'd realized.

"I know," he said, but he didn't feel very safe. He felt . . . unstable. Unhinged, like his chest might burst if he didn't do something to suffocate the dark thoughts swirling in his head.

Alfons pushed himself off of the counter, reaching over Ed and picking up the kettle that had started to boil without Ed realizing. Alfons poured the hot water over the leaves. Milk and sugar were not things they could afford right now, but Alfons liked his sugar, so Ed had been saving. Maybe now that Hohenheim had given Ed his "allowance," Ed could pick him up some from the market on Thursday. It was the least he owed Alfons.

A hand appeared in front of Ed's face and Ed blinked in surprise. "Here." Alfons offered him his hot water bottle. Ed must have zoned out again or something. He took it with a quiet thanks, situating it against his sore shoulder. The heat seeped into bone and muscle alike, softening the steady ache that radiated up his neck and down his back.

"Come on, let's work on your reading," Alfons said with a warm smile, picking up his mug, then fishing into Ed's coat pocket before he could protest and withdrawing the small book Ed had stashed there.

Ed wanted to refuse and turn in, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be sleeping much that night, anyways. He followed Alfons around the counter and into the small seating area that featured bare walls, a record player and an old beaten sofa. The small dining table and pretty blue chair were gifts from Alfons' late mother, and shoved up against the corner was an old upright piano.

It had been left behind from the last tenant, deemed too heavy to move down the stairs after all the work it had probably taken to move up, and though Ed hadn't played since he'd had two flesh arms and a mother to teach him, sitting at that piano and one-handedly coaxing out tunes he'd grown up hearing was one of his more cherished reminders of home.

But it was too late in the night to play. Even Gracia—their landlord with the same face and name and patience of the one he'd known—wouldn't appreciate music at this hour, so Ed settled himself on the couch and Alfons settled beside him, his tea in one hand and the book offered to Ed in the other.

"Would you like me to read, or do you want to try it?"

Ed took the book in his metal hand, examining the words on the cover that he could only read because he knew them by heart.

Ed had never cared for novels, stories of fiction and fairy tales, but this book . . . well, it spoke to Ed in a way that few could.

_The Wonderful Wizard of Oz._

A story about a girl that is transported to a world that wasn't hers, one far away over a rainbow, and now must find her way home. He wasn't sure if Alfons had been thinking of that when he'd picked up the novel for Ed, but Ed found a degree of comfort from the tale that even the science and physics and chemistry of this world didn't provide.

It was understanding, a strange acknowledgement, that made him feel just a little less crazy when he was lost in its pages.

"Go ahead," he said, pushing it back to Alfons and pulling his coat tighter around him. They didn't turn the radiator on if they could help it, and wearing a coat indoors was more the norm than not this time of year.

Alfons obligingly thumbed the book open and set his mug down on the coffee table, brandishing the novel so that Ed could see the strange German words stamped across the page and a small illustration of a girl, a dog, and a scarecrow posed underneath the chapter title.

Ed could speak German alright, and he got away at work because it required more knowledge of numbers than words, but reading and writing were very much weaknesses for him. It shouldn't be very hard, since the words read similarly to Amestrian, but Ed honestly hadn't put the time into it.

During his recovery, when he was too weak and tired to even hold up a book, Hohenheim had read to him exclusively in German, but Ed didn't have any real practice reading it himself until after he'd regained his mobility. When he moved out of Hohenheim's and in with Alfons, he'd sought out books in "English," this world's equivalent to Amestrian. He'd read them until they were memorized and looked for more wherever he could, but English books were scarce and expensive, and if he could learn to read German it would open up another realm of research opportunity.

He was thankful Alfons had the patience to teach him.

Alfons cleared his throat, and Ed tried to keep up with the words on the page as they began the fourth chapter.

" _After a few hours the road began to be rough, and the walking grew so difficult that the Scarecrow often stumbled over the yellow bricks . . ."_

Ed fell asleep only half a chapter in.

XxXxX

The streets were almost silent this early in the morning, and Ed ducked his head against the bitter fall wind that promised snow before the month was out. He felt a little bleary from exhaustion, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes and his stomach growling piteously, but he'd been in a hurry to get out of the apartment. It might have been a bit past four, but Ed hadn't bothered to check the clock on the wall before he'd left to be sure.

He had dreamed about murdering his mother, and he knew he wouldn't be sleeping after that.

At least this time he hadn't bothered Alfons with his screaming. He'd left a hastily scrawled note for his roommate, then drained the rest of his cold tea and flew out the door. These early morning walks—sometimes late-night walks—were not unusual for Ed. Alfons would understand and wouldn't expect him back until breakfast.

He rubbed his flesh hand against his sore automail shoulder, trying to massage the deep, piercing ache from it, but with it being not ten hours after reinstallation and after falling asleep with the limbs still on-and on the couch no less-, he hadn't done his body any favors.

He didn't really have a destination in mind as he wandered the cobblestone streets, just putting one foot in front of the stiff other. The air had a bite to it, a smell that was part sweet and part smoke, until it changed to something fishier. He noticed he was heading to the river with a detached sort of interest, but he didn't care enough to adjust course.

The Isar River was fairly wide, and painted a cool purple in the dim morning light. It seemed like it was hardly moving at all, but Ed knew the current was deceptively strong in areas. Two kids had drowned just a couple of miles up the river last summer. He stepped out onto the wooden pedestrian bridge, crossing halfway before looking up and down its length to confirm that no one was around. Satisfied, he ducked underneath the safety railing and sat himself down on the edge.

His feet dangled off the side, and Ed watched the river rush between his legs for a few moments before looking up to the sky. It was all dark navies to the west, a pale pink in the east, and in between a thousand glittering stars.

Ed wondered if somewhere on the other side of the universe, or maybe on the other side of a rainbow, Alphonse was looking up at the same sky. He immediately felt childish for thinking it, but not childish enough to stop.

Maybe Al was alive and Ed's sacrifice hadn't been for nothing. Maybe he was safe and whole, eating his fill of apple pies and stew and cakes. Maybe he and Winry lived in Resembool with Granny, and maybe Al helped with the automail. Maybe they had found a way to be happy, even without Ed around.

Ed hoped they were happy.

He pressed his flesh hand hard into his sternum, his chest throbbing like clawed hands had scooped out everything in between his ribs and left behind nothing but a bottomless ache. He wondered if there was a German word that could encompass the dark, lonely, _bitter_ emptiness that sometimes felt like it was crushing his heart and lungs, wringing out his insides like an old dish towel and choking him under the weight of his despair. It stole his breath for a few seconds, and he leaned forward, dangerously close to overbalancing and falling headfirst into the river.

A few dry sobs later, he was able to take a gasping, rattling breathe, swallowing the bitter taste of unshed tears.

When he felt a little more in control of himself, he turned his attention back to the sky, watching until the horizon turned from pale pink to searing red, to brilliant orange, then the sun finally peeked over the edge, blotting out the stars as it rose and painted the river a silvery gold. Behind him, an old man shuffled down the bridge, calling out to Ed in greeting as he passed. Ed returned it, and as he looked on either side of the river, saw that there were more people out on the streets, the morning crowd out to begin their day.

He'd have to be at the shop in a couple of hours and he was starving, but his bones, mineral and steel alike, were heavy, and Ed found it took a long few minutes to work up the will to stand.

When he finally managed it, he stretched the kinks from his back and began the long walk back to the apartment, the wind shoving at his back encouragingly.

Then a twinge like an electric current twisted and sparked at the base of his neck.

And that's when he knew he was being watched.

His enemies in this world were not nearly as direct as they had been back home. He no longer dodged a half dozen homunculi or mad alchemists. He'd almost forgotten the sensation of being hunted entirely, but his body responded like it was only yesterday; he kept his eyes glued ahead and used his peripheral vision, casually turning his head to look at a shop across the street or nod to a lady beside him, all the while trying to catch a glimpse of odd movement behind him.

Nothing.

Maybe he really was losing his mind.

Still, his unease wasn't going to be that easily soothed. He picked up his pace.

Who could possibly be after him? Sure, lots of folks were starving and in a bad way and violence had been on the rise, but almost all of that had been aimed at the local political figureheads. Ed—in his threadbare coat from Hohenheim, and scuffed shoes that had to have the souls glued down twice in the past month—did not exactly scream "wealthy target."

But, Ed—with his uneven gait and gaunt frame—might scream "weak target," and that wasn't much better.

He squared his shoulders and quickened his stride even further, still swinging his head side-to-side, but much more interested in putting distance between himself and a problem than engaging in it.

Though if it came down to it, his problem would quickly learn that Ed had a mean right hook.

Hohenheim's warnings briefly flitted through his mind, but Ed hadn't made any sort of contact with this "Thule Society." How would someone from the Society have noticed him so quickly? How could they possibly be looking for him when he'd done nothing to draw attention to himself? 

Now _that_ was paranoia. 

The streets were starting to get busy but still weren't overly crowded yet, so Ed didn't have much hope of losing his tail in the masses. His heart pounded in time with his steps, but he took slow, steady breaths and considered his options.

He didn't want to go back to the apartment and possibly drag Alfons or Gracia into some sort of trouble, and though he could travel all over the city and try to lose his stalker, with the way his thigh port was already throbbing from cold and exhaustion, Ed wasn't sure that was a good idea either.

The university it was.

When he finally reached the campus, the sun was shining over the taller buildings in Munich, bathing the dead grass on the grounds a cheery pink-gold and casting long, bluish shadows behind the trees and buildings. Two students he vaguely recognized greeted Ed on their way in, and Ed fell into step beside them, asking them about their projects, tilting his head as he spoke to try to see back the way he had come.

Something pale flashed in the corner of his eye.

When he turned to look, it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so Ed's found himself a stalker xD Good for him, he seems to be lonely. 
> 
> Jk, jk, stalking is bad and I do not support it lololol. 
> 
> As I was editing the "Wizard of Oz" bit of this chapter, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" came up on my Spotify and I cackled. Because I am easily entertained, it would seem. I know, you're shocked, my humor is normally much more high-browed. 
> 
> In other news, my birthday is this week, and I have already planned all the foods I'm going to eat, despite knowing that they are going to hurt me. Which is ironic, because my health has been doing weird things this past month, but hey, I'm here for a good time, not a long time xD JK JK JK, I eat very healthy most days hahaha, this week is just gonna be an "exception" c: Wish me luck xD
> 
> What on earth is this AN? idk, I don't have an excuse, I'm in a weird mood and just felt like oversharing, it seems lol. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I shall respond to the comments/reviews from the last chapter over the next couple of days, but I wanted to get this one up or I might miss the bi-weekly update goal I made for myself on these two fics haha.
> 
> Anyways, please drop a review if you have the time, and I'll see you next chapter! :)
> 
> God Bless,  
> -RainFlame


	3. Chapter 3

_"Elric."_

Ed jumped a mile, whirling from the open bay door to see Dorchett staring, Gustav beside him.

Dorchett Lizt, probably the smallest member of the team—and arguably the testiest—pointed a spanner at him in a way that could only be described as aggressive, like he'd beat Ed over the head with it if he could reach.

It was nice to not be the . . . _least tall_ member of a team.

"I said hand me the pliers!"

Ed hastily complied, passing Dorchett a pair off of the table. Dorchett almost threw the spanner at him before taking the proffered tool and burying his head back in the small skeletal body of their latest rocket engine. "What's with you today?! You're even more spaced out than usual."

Ed thought about responding, then figured it was probably rhetorical and turned back to his notes on liquid oxygen.

"You do seem pretty distracted today, Edward," Gustav agreed, elbow-deep in the apparatus as he held something together for Dorchett. Gustav Wolff was everything Dorchett wasn't: tall, soft-spoken and quiet, his jaw squared and blue eyes calm.

Dorchett was loud, abrasive, and had triangular features that accentuated just how prickly he was. Alfons called it "little man syndrome," and Ed didn't appreciate the implications his roommate was trying to make.

"Yeah, did you meet a girl or something?" Dorchett asked with a grin that Ed wanted to smack off his face but didn't, in the interest of workplace relations.

Gustav sighed. "Please forgive Dorchett. He's an idiot and can't help himself."

"Hey!" Dorchett whirled on his partner even as his hands were still wrapped up in wires. "I'm the one with the highest GPA on this team!"

"And absolutely no social skills," Gustav retorted. "Leave him alone."

Dorchett snarled something that was too fast for Ed to make out, but Gustav didn't seem to be fazed so Ed ignored them, his gaze wondering back out the bay door, past the glare of sunlight spilling on concrete and onto the campus beyond.

No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that the minute he stepped outside someone was going to put a bullet in his head.

He couldn't really tell Alfons because he'd just think Ed was being paranoid, or worse, crazy. He briefly entertained the idea of leaving the shop and heading straight for Hohenheim's, but that would just bring trouble on the old man's doorstep for no good reason.

But Ed couldn't very well sleep in the shop. That would draw unnecessary attention to himself, and Hohenheim was right: Ed already stuck out in a crowd.

A hand clamped around his flesh arm and Ed jerked away hard, heart sputtering, already reeling back to throw a metal fist—

He just managed to stop it in an awkward half-raise at his shoulder.

"Just me," Alfons said, hands raised and blond brows pinched together. "Ed, are you okay?"

Ed brushed off his vest, trying to look casual. Trying to hide the shake in his flesh fingers. "Fine. What's up?"

"I'll tell you what's up," Dorchett interjected. "Elric hasn't done a thing today!"

Alfons looked between him and Ed with a frown. "Back to work, Dorchett."

"Maybe you should tell that to Elric," Dorchett said, face twisted up in irritation. "Just because he's the favorite doesn't mean he shouldn't be pulling his weight."

Ed bristled, but was saved a response by Gustav casually and kindly dropping a fist down on Dorchett's head.

 _"Owe!_ Gustav! What are you—"

"Manners," Gustav reminded primly.

While the two bickered, Alfons took the chance to address Ed once more. "Come take a look at this design."

Ed followed him to another table shoved up against the wall, closer to their shared office. Felix Schonberg was sitting at one end, scribbling furiously on a notepad. "It's way too late to be changing this design, Heidrich," he said without looking up, an unlit cigarette clutched between his teeth.

Edward liked Felix. There was something about his features that were familiar—not a double exactly, just a familiarity—that sort of reminded Ed of Havoc, except Felix wore his blond hair cropped short and had a goatee in the making that just seemed to accentuate the near-constant unimpressed expression on his face. Ed had discovered that the man was as dry as the desert and near unflappable.

Alfons sighed. "I know, you already told me."

"I felt it worth repeating." Felix held up a small sheet of metal. "I could really use Roa's help with this. What am I supposed to do with sheets three quarters of the size we ordered?"

"I'm trying to get more," Alfons said wearily. "Supply is being stingy. Let's see what corners we can cut in the meantime." He snatched the blueprints from Felix and slid them in front of Ed. "I know we've already got construction on the engine, but we need to figure out how to lighten the whole thing without compacting and overheating the engine. I don't think it's too late to shorten the engine shell, but—"

Ed found it increasingly difficult to understand what Alfons was saying. He managed to get by offering only a few nods and a handful of suggestions before his eyes were drawn outside once more.

"Go home."

Ed blinked, turning to see Alfons and Felix staring.

"What?"

"Go home, Ed," Alfons repeated. "You're useless like this."

Ed glared. "Look, this is not my thing. I'm just—"

"The chemist," Felix said blandly. "We know."

Alfons sighed. "Look Ed, you're not accomplishing anything here. You've scribbled the same four equations all over that page at your station and you haven't solved any of them. We're all better off if you go home and get some rest. You'll feel better, and then maybe you can work."

Ed felt his cheeks heat. He wasn't a little kid, he didn't need to be sent home, and he didn't appreciate Alfons pulling rank on him. "I can work."

"I know you can."

Ed fidgeted under Alfons and Felix's stare.

"But you're sending me home anyway."

Alfons' smile was apologetic, but his gaze was firm. "I'll see you this evening, okay?"

Alfons walked back into the back office and Felix turned back to his blueprints.

"Better do what the boss says," Felix rumbled. "Wouldn't want to make him mad."

Another parallel between Alfons and Alphonse; when they were angry, it was in your best interest to be far away.

Still . . . Ed's pride stung, and call it his own moral failing, but he could feel the beginnings of his dormant temper starting to kindle, and it felt good. It felt good to be feeling something other than empty, and it had been a while since Ed had yelled at someone.

Ignoring Felix's sage advice, Ed followed Alfons into the office.

The cheap door ricocheted off the wall with the force of Ed's entry.

Alfons jerked up from his stack of papers. "Ed?! Ed, what are you—"

"What was that, Alfons?!"

Alfons blinked, eyes wide. "I'm not sure what you—"

"I know you think I'm some mentally-touched basket case—"

"Ed, that's not—"

"That's exactly what you think!" Ed snarled. "I don't need your pity, and I don't need your coddling, I need to work!"

Alfons' shock had worn off by now, his blue eyes going flat. "Ed, what's this really about?"

Ed bristled. "What are you—"

"I've sent you home early before. Ed, I've sent each member of this team home before for various reasons. You're not special."

"You send me home twice as much!"

"You're distracted twice as often! Today, not only are you distracted, you're a distract _ion._ We have a deadline, and if you're not going to help us today, then you need to rest until you're useful."

"I can be useful! Look, there was an incident this morning before work, but I'm handling it. I need to work, and I don't need to be sent home every time you think I—"

"You think this is about you?"

Ed stopped not because Alfons had yelled, but because he had said it so quietly.

Ed fumbled. "Of course not—"

"Our careers hinge on this. Our _livelihoods_ hinge on this!" Alfons was still quiet, but far from calm, voice quivering with a show of rage that Ed had never witnessed from Alfons.

But it reminded Ed of his little brother and he swallowed.

"Dorchett and Roa are trying to support their parents and siblings on this scholarship. Felix is by himself trying to take care of his three younger siblings. Gustav has a family. You think it doesn't matter if you mess around, daydreaming about your stories and your 'world,' but if we don't get this model running in three months, we're _out_." He spat the word like a curse. "Out of a scholarship, out of a job, and we'll all be in the gutters like the rest of this country. We don't all have wealthy fathers to support us, Edward. Some of us are on our own."

The words stung, as Alfons undoubtedly knew they would.

"So go home," he said. "Do whatever it is you do that gets your head out of the clouds and back into reality, then come back and _help us."_

He left the rest unsaid, but Ed heard it loud and clear.

_Or I'll find somebody else that can._

On that note, Alfons picked up a stack of blueprints from his desk and stormed out the open door, leaving bleeding tension and burning fury in his wake.

Leaving Ed alone.

Ed stood and listened to the echoing sounds of machinery and the murmur of voices in the shop outside, staring at Alfons' desk and not quite sure what to do with himself and his wounded pride and seething temper.

Maybe it was better this way. Instead of hiding in the shop, now he was free to deal with whatever was waiting outside for him. Hiding wasn't much Ed's style, anyway.

And as ill prepared as he was physically for a fight, he was mad enough that it didn't matter.

Actually, punching some stalker in the face would feel really good right now.

He swept through the shop, ignoring Dorchett's smug calls—and indignant yelp as Gustav smacked him—and Roa's greeting as the older mechanic entered the shop late. Ed slipped past the blond-haired mountain-of-a-man and out the bay door.

And despite knowing that he was setting the bar low, he couldn't help but feel a bit pleased when no one shot him in the head once he was out in the open of campus.

In fact, he didn't even feel the oppressive sense of being watched until he was back in the streets of Munich, halfway down the block.

But Ed was in the mood to fight not run, so as casually as he could manage, he turned down a side street.

Then an alley.

Then another side street.

Then another alley, slipping into the shadows of the tall buildings and ducking behind a set of silver trashcans that smelled like wet paper and spoiled food.

Then he waited for whomever was unfortunate enough to be following Ed today of all days.

It didn't take long for Ed to hear footsteps at the mouth of the alley, a shabby, rough-looking figure hurrying past.

Despite months and years of wasting away on this side of the Gate, muscle memory was slow to die. Ed surged forward, digging his flesh hand in the back of the figure's collar and grabbing a wrist with his automail, twisting it behind his stalker's back.

"Wait!"

Definitely male then, if his taller stature and broad shoulders weren't a giveaway.

Ed wasn't feeling very charitable at the moment, so he used the man's momentum against him to swing him face first into a brick wall.

_"Oof!"_

Oh _yes,_ that was satisfying.

"Now," he hissed in the man's ear, "you wanna tell me why you're following me? Or would you like me to dislocate your shoulder?" He yanked the man's hand higher up his back for dramatic emphasis.

And because he was irked.

The man grunted in pain, _"Wait,_ let me explain—"

All the breath left Ed's lungs.

He _knew_ that voice.

Heart pounding, hands shaking, Ed released the man's arm and flipped him over.

Then his heart stopped.

_"Colonel?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter is shorter :'D Idk, I guess that's what I get for trying to be consistent and updating every two weeks xD 
> 
> Poor Ed :c Fights with the roommate are never fun, but glad his second-and-arguably-best dad could make it to the party c: This chapter was hard to write for some reason, so hopefully it's readable :'D I take turns obsessing over which of my in-progress fics I'm obsessed with, and it's usually the fic that I'm not trying to update that week hahaha.
> 
> I have been sleeping on my couch for over a week now. Don't ask me why, it just seems like the thing to do when it's freezing outside. I haven't left my heating pad for more than a couple of hours at a time xD I'm so ready for summer, I can't even ;-; Also my laptop is at 2% and I'm too lazy to get my charger. Trying to get this update out as I simultaneously live on the edge. I'm feeling wild and unhinged. 
> 
> Anyways, comments/reviews give me life c: If you have the time, please drop one, and I'll see you next chapter!
> 
> God Bless,  
> -RainFlame

**Author's Note:**

> Did you think I had the focus and the self-control to work on one multi-chap fic at a time?
> 
> Then you were sorely mistaken xD
> 
> This is it. The CoS-fix-it fic I've always wanted to do but was scared o h. And rightly so, because I spent almost as much time researching in the middle of this chapter as writing, not even counting the research I did before I even started. I'm taking some historic liberties, glossing over some of the uglier stuff, and hoping to fix the end of CoS that I was so unhappy with xD
> 
> Also, in true RainFlame fashion, somebody sort of died but walks it off. Roy will be -fine-. Just fine.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed the first chapter c: If you have the time, please drop a comment/review, and I will see you next chapter!
> 
> God Bless,  
> -RainFlame
> 
> P.S.: Shoutout to firewoodfigs once more for agreeing to beta yet another fic xD You da best <3


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